That We Might Remember
by Wilshards
Summary: A continuation of my previous Dexter fan fiction "Sunken Truths". 20 years have passed since the events of Season 7 and "Sunken Truths". Now at age 61, Dexter must deal with a host of new problems that could not only change his life forever, but have overreaching implications at the highest levels of power in the USA. A story of murder, rule of law, privacy and limited government.
1. Welcome to the Police State

**_Disclaimer:_**

_1. It is important to note that this fan fic does not follow the real Dexter Season 8 story, though some elements may coincide. In this fan fic only the first 7 seasons are considered "canon". For all intents and purposes, **Season 8 never happened.**_

_2. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners (Showtime, Jeff Lindsay). The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_3. All characters, events etc. portrayed in this story are fictional and any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental. Also locations, legal procedures etc. described in this story are not necessarily factually correct neither are they intended to be._

_4. If you see anything you think if out of place, let me know. The story won't change but there may be minor corrections._

_5. Expect **major spoilers** from the first 7 seasons as well as spoilers from my previous fan fic entitled "Sunken Truths"._

* * *

**_Synopsis:_**

_"That We Might Remember" is a sequel to my previous fan fic "Sunken Truths" so I strongly recommend reading that first. Here it is:_

_/s/9371111/1/Sunken-Truths (Put this text after fanfiction dot net or just look for it on the website)  
_

_"Sunken Truths" is a fictional sequel to Season 7 and is basically my version of Season 8. My own kind of music if you will. Which would make "That We Might Remember" a fictional Season 9 I guess. Now, with that out of the way…_

_Set roughly 20 years after the death of Captain Maria LaGuerta and a murder investigation that further strained his relationship with Debra and nearly cost him his freedom, Dexter has to deal with a host of new problems in his life, most notably being an aging psychopath rapidly approaching retirement, as well as living in an increasingly surveillant United States that makes it harder to kidnap and kill people, while simultaneously being, at least unofficially, an assassin for a secretive government agency, tasked with liquidating terrorists and other criminals deemed too dangerous or too costly to be handled by the proper authorities._

* * *

**And now, on with actual story…**

I was born on February 1st, 1971. Yes, it's me again, Dexter Morgan, the Bay Harbor Butcher. I'm 61 now and I never imagined I'd make it this far. The year is 2032 and today is the 5th of May. I still live in Miami, Florida after all these years even though things are different now. Then again they're different everywhere. You see, due to the expansion of mass surveillance in the United States, it's become increasingly difficult to track down and kill people who fit my code. Difficult… but not impossible. To really understand the scope of it I'd have to walk you through it. So let us go back a day before…

* * *

**4th May 2032  
Homicide, Miami Metro Police Department  
10:19 AM**

I was in my lab testing some DNA samples from the last case. Miami Metro had changed a lot over the years, new, more efficient equipment, advanced computer simulation of blood spatter to help with my work, but also the people changed. Angel Batista retired for good at some point with Joey Quinn taking his place as Sergeant and eventually rising through the ranks to become Homicide Captain of Miami Metro. Matthews was long gone by then, he retired in 2013 when he became eligible for a full 40-year pension plan and died of natural causes about ten years later. He went to his grave without ever finding out the truth about what I was. Masuka stills works alongside me as a forensics analyst, even though he's had health problems over the last couple of years. Ever since his prostate cancer operation he has not been his usual cheerful self. In fact he rarely talks anymore and his Elmer Fudd-style of laughter is gone.

Of course new faces also came along. Lieutenant Christopher Braswell, not unlike LaGuerta in many ways as far as the ability to play politics goes, but unlike LaGuerta a fairly competent investigator too. Sergeant Walt Murdoch, a man who for some reason reminds me a lot of Doakes, which is why I've taken extra caution not to act too freaky around. So far it's worked out well. In fact, if there's anyone at all he is suspicious of, it's Masuka. Finally there's detective Sandra Levy. No, she is nothing like my sister Debra. Speaking of Debra, it's been 20 years since I last spoke to her. She moved away to Los Angeles to start a new life, a life away from me, away from the haunting memories of Maria LaGuerta's murder by her hands. She is a private investigator for an insurance company called Homesafe Corporation. She makes sure that people don't try to defraud the company. She has a decent wage, lives in a nice house in Brentwood, still single, and unfortunately that's all I know about her. Not that I'd have any of this information without the police database, given that she simply doesn't speak to me anymore. I've grown to accept it, I still want to keep an eye on her from afar, to make sure she's alright.

Anyway, that morning Murdoch signaled me to come out of the lab.

**Murdoch:** "Morgan, we just got a call about a dead girl, there's blood everywhere too. I need you on this. The system should text you the address any minute now. Oh and where the fuck is that weirdo forensic sidekick of yours Masuka?"  
**Dexter:** "Beats me, Sergeant. He's having a hard time, being a cancer survivor can be tough, just saying".  
**Murdoch:** "Well, he better not forget that he has a job to do."  
**Dexter:** "I see, I'll just be on my way then."  
**Murdoch:** "Good, I can count on you at least, let's catch the son of a bitch who did this."

* * *

**4th May 2032  
Crime Scene, Miami City  
10:41 AM**

It took me about 20 minutes to get to the crime scene, Masuka would arrive shortly after. Murdoch was there already. The scene was an extremely bloody mess with blood and pieces of flesh scattered around a large portion of the sidewalk around the body. Easily one of the top ten worst I had seen in my entire career. It was more than enough to give any psychopath an instant hard on.

**Dexter:** "My God, this is horrible, what kind of sick fuck could do this?" I said. No smile, no excitement, I just tried as hard as possible to feign the reaction of a normal person. After my history with Doakes, LaGuerta and Cophs, I couldn't risk Murdoch starting to suspect there was something off about me. I had seen enough of what he did about Masuka for far less. Extensive background checks, there was even a time when Murdoch had begun stalking Masuka, only backing off when told about his cancer. But overall, it still didn't make him more sympathetic. After all, to him there had always been something off about Masuka, even before his diagnosis.  
**Murdoch:** "Yeah, man, I feel ya. This is fucked up beyond belief! Now get to work, we're nailing this son of a bitch within the hour or bust."

Masuka arrived shortly.

**Murdoch:** "You're late, sex pest! Get in there and help Morgan out."  
**Masuka:** "Yeah… Sure, Sergeant." he said, seemingly irritated by the man.  
**Murdoch:** "What do we have here? Can you tell me who this is, Morgan?" he asked.  
**Dexter:** "Her facial features are damaged beyond recognition, my biometric scanner is of no use. However, we can ID the vic the old fashioned way." I said pulling out a wallet out of her purse. "Samantha Hoover. Age 28. She lives right here in this flat. The killer hit pretty close to home." I said.  
**Murdoch:** "And what happened here?"  
**Dexter:** "Well judging by all the evidence we've seen here, she was taken by surprise and then stabbed and cut repeatedly in random areas of the body. I'd say about 30% of all of this was done while she was still alive. He continued the mutilation postmortem. This was a particularly brutal kill, you're likely looking at a crime of passion here or a very deranged psychopath. Or both… Time of death, probably 30 minutes ago so the killer can't be too far. Plus after a kill like this, he'll be covered in blood from head to toe."

Indeed there were some very bloody footprints leading up to about 20 meters away. Then they just stopped, a vehicle. Murdoch took notice.

**Murdoch:** "Shit… Vehicle. Sandra, any witness?"  
**Sandra:** "No luck finding a witness, sir. Nobody saw the killer or the car."  
**Murdoch:** "Morgan, Masuka, anything here that might point to the identity of the killer?"  
**Dexter:** "No."  
**Masuka:** "Nope."  
**Dexter:** "Well, we are taking some DNA samples, but there's no guarantee we'll find anything."  
**Murdoch:** "It's alright. It's alright. Motherfucker still made the mistake of killing publicly in broad daylight, on a street. Did I say 1 hour? I want this guy in the interrogation room within 15 minutes. Sandra, bring me the heavy artillery."  
**Sandra:** "Right away, sir."

By "heavy artillery" Murdoch meant the Global Satellite Surveillance system. A serial killer's worst nightmare. Sometimes a forensic analyst's nightmare as well given that it often renders my job redundant. Good thing I am close to retirement. The GSS pretty much ensures no crimes can be successfully committed in about 95% of public places in the United States and pretty much any private property as well, so long as there's no roof over it. Virtually everything is recorded from outer space in high definition and stored in the NSA's gigantic database for a period of up to 100 years. Neither fog, nor rain, nor snow is an effective cover. They had already begun preparations for this at the start of the 21st century. But this was taken to a whole new level. And all of this with bipartisan support. All law enforcement have access to it at the click of a button. No warrants, no nothing.

Say hello to Big Brother.

**Murdoch:** "Alright, I'll set the address. Time stamp, 10:11 AM, just before we got called."

We waited a few minutes. Samantha appear at around 10:13.

**Sandra:** "I think that is her, pause here please. Yes, it is her same dress."  
**Murdoch:** "And he's the killer coming right at her and… Holy fuck!" he said as he stared at the screen for several minutes .  
**Sandra:** "It really is as gruesome as Dexter described it."  
**Murdoch:** "Makes me wonder why I need you at all, Morgan." he said. Then he smiled. "Nah, man, I'm just fucking with you, you are a great asset to Miami Metro. And don't you forget it."  
**Sandra:** "Can we ID him?"  
**Murdoch:** "I'll zoom in a bit, we can't really ID him from this angle, let's hope he moves his head a little to reveal his face at some point. Then I can run him through the biometric scanner."

And it happened.

**Murdoch:** "Bingo! Gotcha you son of a bitch!" he said as he ran him through the database. "Bradley Thomas fucking Pomeroy! 4723 Bal Harbour. But damn, this motherfucker is really dangerous." he said and I knew where he was getting at. The GSS included an option to automatically dispatch a SWAT team, again no warrant needed, though abuse would not be tolerated. Or so they say… "I'm calling in SWAT to apprehend him. It's a good chance he rushed back home to get cleaned up. Alright people, let's wrap this up and head back to the station!"

And that indeed turned out to be true. Before the clock hit eleven, Pomeroy was already in custody. About two hours later, Sergeant Murdoch would interrogate him personally.

So how, one may ask, can a serial killer like me possibly get away with it, when the government literally knows everything that happens under the sun in this day and age? And being age 61 no less, doesn't that make it all the more harder? I'm certainly not in the physical shape I was 20 years ago at the "height" of my career. The short answer is, you adapt. Allow me to demonstrate…


	2. Got the Chair

**4th May 2032  
Interrogation Room, Homicide, Miami Metro Police Department  
1:17 PM**

**Murdoch:** "Confess, motherfucker!" he demanded. It was no use however. Pomeroy simply stood there silent. "Listen, Pomeroy, we have more than enough evidence to bury you six feet under. It's a DA's wet dream in these files. We have high definition satellite footage of you doing it. Your vehicle is covered in blood. Your floor is covered in blood. We pulled your bloodied clothes from the washing machine. We found the bloodied murder weapon in your kitchen. The DNA matches Samantha's. And we certainly had probable cause to do all of this. It's your choice, a choice between life without possibility of parole… and the chair. No lawyer on Earth can help you now. Understand?"

Pomeroy smiled. He simply said:

**Pomeroy:** "I am glad that the bitch is dead."  
**Murdoch:** "You are one sick puppy, you know that? I'd kill you myself if this badge didn't hold me back."  
**Pomeroy: **"But I am innocent. She is the guilty one. And you will never convict me. I want my lawyer before I say anything else."

Murdoch shrugged.

**Murdoch:** "Listen to yourself you delusional fuck. You're done. I'm telling you, there's no way you're gonna walk outta here a free man."  
**Pomeroy:** "Try me!" he yelled as he tried to throw a punch to Sergeant Murdoch, but the chains held him back."  
**Murdoch:** "Ha ha ha ha! You really are insane, aren't you? Maybe you can plead that in court. But right now I'm gonna leave you to rot in here for a few hours, think about what you've done."

But he was not insane. He knew full well what he did. He was just a sociopath. And sociopaths cannot plead insanity. Murdoch left the interrogation room, Lieutenant Braswell was waiting.

**Braswell:** "Well, that was… disappointing, Sergeant Murdoch. All that evidence and you still couldn't manage to get a confession out of him. He he." he smiled.  
**Murdoch:** "I don't need no damn confession, Lieutenant. We got enough on him. He can fry for all I care."  
**Braswell:** "I've never been a fan of the death penalty, Walt. I believe there's a place in this twisted world for everyone."  
**Murdoch:** "Yeah right… Alright gather around everyone and listen up." he said. "In case you forgot, it's my birthday today."

"Happy birthday, Walt!" the staff cheered.

**Murdoch:** "Damn 39 years. Feels like only yesterday… Tell you what, let's all grab lunch at Angel's restaurant. It's on me."

Lunch? Most of the homicide staff gone?

**Murdoch: **"Morgan, you coming?"  
**Dexter:** "I… would really love to, but I'm behind on my reports."  
**Masuka:** "I'd come."  
**Murdoch:** "No, fuck off freak. And that better not be a pun."  
**Braswell:** "Easy there, Walt, it's meant to be a beautiful day today."  
**Murdoch:** "Sure, you can come. I was just teasing."

And so they left. The entire office empty. All to myself… and our guest in the interrogation room. With the government so obsessed with stopping crime by any means necessary they had forgotten to look right under their noses. Believe it or not, Bradley Thomas Pomeroy would have about 30 minutes to live. And I'd get away with it.

The security camera in the interrogation room was off at this time and luckily no camera down the hall either. I proceeded to the room with nothing but an M-99 tranquilizer in my pocket and a paper clip. I sat down at the other end of the table.

**Pomeroy: **"Yes? Back so soon detectives? Has my lawyer arrived yet?" he asked.  
**Dexter:** "I'm just the forensics guy, I need a DNA sample from you." I said, as I got up, pulled out my M-99. He panicked when he saw a syringe.  
**Pomeroy:** "What the… Stay away from me you crazy fucker! Help! Guards! Anyone!"  
**Dexter:** "Struggle as much as you like. They're all on their lunch break. The camera is off. The mic is off." I said as I pulled him by his hair and put the needle into this neck. I gave him only a small dose, enough to disorient him for a minute or two but not enough for it to ever be found in his system.

A minute later he woke up. An improvised rope tied around his neck, made out of torn window sheets. His feet on the chair inside the interrogation room.

**Dexter:** "Watch your step."  
**Pomeroy: **"Help! Get me down from here." I put my foot near the chair. He tried to untie the rope but failed.  
**Dexter:** "Are you sure about that? I can get you down."  
**Pomeroy:** "Wait! No! Not like that! Untie me first!"  
**Dexter:** "Sure, on one condition." I said.  
**Pomeroy:** "Name it! Anything."  
**Dexter:** "Put Samantha Hoover back together again."  
**Pomeroy:** "Ah fuck!" he said realizing there was no way out. "Alright, you want a confession, I did it. Because she's a bitch who left me for a rich prick."  
**Dexter:** "You have no right over her body or her life. She's not your possession."  
**Pomeroy:** "You have no right to be doing what you're doing now!"  
**Dexter:** "True. But you deserve it anyway. And I can get away with doing it. I've gotten away with it for over 40 years. Everyone will think that you committed suicide. Case closed. Justice served." I said. Pomeroy began sobbing.  
**Pomeroy:** "Let me go, I'll confess, I'll do my time."  
**Dexter:** "No, if I let you go you'll cry police brutality and be out on the streets before your feet touch the ground. And my carefully guarded secret will be exposed to the rest of the world."  
**Pomeroy:** "Secret? Are you the real Bay Harbor Butcher vigilante?"  
**_Harry:_**_ "Dexter? What are you waiting for? End his life already before Murdoch returns!"_  
**Dexter:** "You've got it. I am he." I smiled. Then I kicked the chair from under him. He choked to death within minutes.

As usual I had worn gloves all this time so nothing could really implicate me…

* * *

**4th May 2032  
Interrogation Room, Homicide, Miami Metro Police Department  
3:00 PM**

**Dexter:** "Well, Sergeant, this looks like a clear cut case of suicide."  
**Masuka:** "Indeed."  
**Murdoch:** "Shit, incompetent fucks forgot to strip search him and do a cavity check. How on earth did he smuggle a paper clip inside the station? And who the fuck had the stupid idea of having window sheets inside an interrogation room? Man, I'm so pissed too when these cowards commit suicide. It makes me feel as though they evaded justice somehow. The people should be the ones to decide when and how he dies."  
**Braswell:** "On the contrary, Sergeant Murdoch, he probably wanted to die. Being locked for the rest of your life, like an animal in a cage, is a much harsher punishment. A more fitting punishment. And yet a more humane punishment."  
**Murdoch:** "Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant, that sounds like more liberal gibberish to me. No man who kills in cold blood should ever be clothed, fed and sheltered for the rest of his life. It is an insult to the deceased person and to the next of kin. The country is already over 50 trillions in national debt anyway."

I didn't hang around for the political debate because honestly, I was not into politics much. I was going to finish my reports and go home to see my wonderful wife and kids. Or… maybe not.

My phone rang at about 5 PM. A scrambled voice said:

**Unknown Caller:** "Mr. Morgan. You are to report for your next assignment within the hour. The location is 1271 Collins Avenue. Write it down. That's 1271 Collins Avenue."

Barnes… my 'other' employer.


	3. America! F--- Yeah!

[To be continued...]


End file.
